One rather misty day, on which but few bathers ventured into the water, I, feeling a need of exercise, determined to enjoy my customary swim. The cabin I happened to take stood next to the large one of Madame d'Agri. When I returned, dripping and glowing from my bath, I noticed that the lady was seated in it sewing, and that her nephew was lounging by her, reading the paper. As I was luxuriating in the delicious feeling which I believe sea-bathing alone can give, I was startled by a few words which came distinctly to my ears; so far the conversation had not risen above an occasional, monotonous hum, but suddenly I found myself in the awkward position of a forced listener, as the thin wooden partition proved but a slight [{412}] obstruction to the heightened voices of the speakers.
"My good aunt, let us not broach that subject again."
"My good nephew, I must and will; the welfare of our noble house—"
"Fiddlesticks!" (this is a mild translation.) "Listen rather to this account of the transactions at Vienna.
"Louis, you are mad. If you will not be moved by higher considerations, think at least of your own comfort—that comfort that you love so well. You are poor, too high born to work, what then is left you but a wealthy marriage?"
"There you have touched my only vulnerable point, my comfort; but then, my dear aunt, what becomes of your aristocratic scruples? would you have the noble blood of the d'Agris contaminated?—"
"But, Louis, Americans are not like others; it is true they do say her father made his money in commerce, but then, I read somewhere or other that Americans consider themselves all as sovereigns; besides, we want money, and if it is said that you married a foreigner, people will not trouble themselves about the origin of her money-sacks, as they would if she were the daughter of a French roturier. Come, my boy, be reasonable; remember that you are the last representative—"
"I remember, rather, that champagne is dear, and so are cigars: what do you want of me?"
"I want you to marry this rich girl; no hard task—you seem to like her well enough—"
"My good aunt, everything in life bores me. When I was a child, my playthings bored me; later, school and college proved almost intolerable bores; my rank bores me; Paris bores me, the country still more so; society is an insufferable bore, but above all, French girls bore me. Now, this Mees Fannee is original or seems to me so; she stirs me a little with her quickness, her coquetry, and her outré ideas. But remember that has not yet lasted long; a few weeks more, and she too probably, will bore me—and then for a whole lifetime . . . good aunt, that is a consideration to make a man tremble!"